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Feeling like I got to make an excuse, but I won't.
I'm still in contest mode.
I am taking my (fill in the blank) to bed.
I have no clue how I missed my wonderful orange ribbon - I really don't. I must have just gotten. I'm so proud.
What happened to my post? This one's a test.
I'm just worn out at 5:57 AM
I will not put on a pot of coffee. I'm worn out.
I spent all night reading and reviewing, I think I got 7 reviews done. Worn out.
I discovered and updated my reviewing tab. Worn out.
I have not written anything in so long - embarrassed.
Can't wait until this contest is over! I'm worn out!
My email box is absolutely ridiculous.
I have not written any emails.
Haven't written in my personal journal.
Haven't read a book.
My second main computer has crashed ... along with my entire novel and outlines.
Things will fall back into place soon, but for now
I'm just worn out.

We're going to pick up reviewing in the AM, and the weekend - I just got stumped by a story, had to google stuff. Now that I'm "learnt" will review tomorrow so I can do it justice.
I've played myself out, I don't care if I don't ever do another in depth review. T'ard.
Yup, and I'm doing something right most of the time cause the reviewees respond, and it's all good, and I'm helping. My first in depth review today, I spent hours on, started it last night (Tuesday). Anyway, I finished it yesterday and when I went to post it, the writer had restricted the piece. I emailed them and asked the to unrestrict it ... I put a lot of work into it and somebody was going to read it. They removed the restriction. T'ard, My night owl is going to sleep.
My short story is finished. I'm so tired of rereading and rewriting it. But it's not ready. I'm going to do a little reading to see if I can find out what is missing.
I feel better, but my short story sucks.
My first short story is coming along. I reviewed it and it was most brutal. I've taken the critique in stride because I expect nothing less from a draft. I wished I were done with it, but have no clue how to hurry it along.
From experience, I have found that the best way to hurry it along is to just keep plugging along at it.
I'm extremely exhausted from crawling underneath and away from a big ole nasty stress cloud. I don't think it saw me, but all that crawling ...
I've outlined my blog post, will work on it later in the day. It's supposed to be funny, you can just translate that as being especially hard to write. I don't do funny well, but I keep at it because laughing makes me feel good.

I'm having a bout of slow writing, not writer's block. Slow writing feels like thinking writing, I type up a sentence and think about the next word to say. So I write, "The," and then I ask myself, then what? I manage, "The hazy," then I stop, scratch my head and repeat aloud, The hazy. Then I'm afforded a sleuth of words and I string together a sentence such as ... "The hazy afternoon weighed heavily upon Delia's hopes for the day." Then, moving forward, I type out, "She." I start this mess all over again, coaxing words to sit tightly against the other. It's tedious, lacks reward, but as long as I can write decent rewriting material then I'm OK, and the hazy afternoon doesn't weigh as heavily upon my hopes for the day.
How my heart yearns, but in the meantime there's always pencil and paper.
What a wee-hee, not real keen on what that means, but it feels right.
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